


Falling (With Style)

by pornographicrainbowlegs



Series: Infliction [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Major Character Injury, Masturbation, Physical Abuse, Self Harm, Self-cest, Wingfic, Wings, a little bit?, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:12:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pornographicrainbowlegs/pseuds/pornographicrainbowlegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam deals with the fallout of saying 'yes'.</p><p>Wing kink, Vessel-bation (Is that a thing? It is now...), Non-Con, and MAJOR SELF HARM in later chapters. Reasonably graphic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam is looking in the mirror back at Lucifer, knowing he’s the reflection. His wings are glowing radiantly, framing him magnificently. They gently rise and fall, twittering lightly, as Lucifer breathes in and out. He feels self conscious with Lucifer’s gaze on his shirtless figure, wings corporal, betraying everything he’s tried to be his whole life.

“Look,” Satan says, “I’ll take the gag off, okay?” That’s an indescribable loosening sensation where his diaphragm is and Sam feels an urge to take in deep breaths.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he spits when he feels he’s got his breathing under control.

Lucifer looks contemptuous. “It hurts me when you say such things.” Sam pinches his lips. “Why must you hurt me, Sam? I have nothing but love for you.” But Sam remains silent, refusing to soothe this devil disguised as an angel.

“Fine,” Lucifer snaps. “Let me prove my love.”

Sam feels his chest tighten up, and though he hadn’t planned to speak to the devil, he feels a murmur of anxiety now that he cannot.

Lucifer moves from the mirror and over to the bed. He sits straight backed on top of the duvet, looking down at his hands as they smooth the ratty patchwork flat beneath his fingers. Barely a blink and the remains of his clothes are removed, to be deposited on the chair by the table, folded.

Lucifer looks down at Sam’s cock, moving his legs apart in some sick gesture of appreciative accommodation.

“Don’t!” Sam screams through the celestial gag.

“Shh,” Lucifer whispers to the empty room. “Let me.”

Sam tries to fight through the gag and the bonds preventing him from the use of his body. But his arm betrays him for Lucifer’s control, lifting off the bedspread, and gracefully sliding across Sam’s leg to his crotch.

Sam feels like crying as the devil’s hand grasps his penis. The touch is incomparably gentler than Sam anticipated. Guilty arousal flows through his body and he curses its betrayal, too.

“Oh, Sammy.” The air stirs with surprise. With his free hand, Lucifer reaches his fingers to wipe gently at Sam’s cheeks, pulling them back to reveal the wetness. “Don’t cry, love,” he begs with his best imitation of comfort. Sam can feel the angel leering wickedly. His insides feel slimy with anticipation.

Lucifer brings his tear soaked fingers to his tongue, tasting them. “So sweet,” he nearly moans, drawing it out in a disgusting display. Sam tries again to recapture control of his limbs. “I can feel you, _oh_ ,” Lucifer gasps, starting to smoothly slide the hand wrapped around his dick, “ _mmm_ , scratching away in there.”

Sam’s wings begin to quiver, his hips pushing upwards, heels digging into the seedy carpet for leverage. At the tip, Lucifer deliciously circles the head with his thumb. Too soon, Sam feels desire replace the shame of, quite literally, coming apart in Lucifer’s hands.

“That’s it, Sammy,” Lucifer grunts, pressing harder off the bed and into his palm. There’s a coil of tension in his stomach, slowly gathering momentum the faster he flicks his wrist until it’s too much and they are both thrusting higher and harder as their orgasm hits.

The arousal sits with them both for a few moments. Still panting, Lucifer drags his now dirty hand up to his mouth and licks away the come. “I’ve never had anyone sweeter than you, Sam Winchester,” Lucifer claims, his filthy declaration filling the empty room.

His words finally draw Sam out of the distorted, passion muddled haze. The guilt returns nearly tenfold, and though he knows it’s impossible at this point, Sam tries again for control over his body. “Sammy, Sammy,” Lucifer tuts, shaking his head. “None of that.” His words have finality, and Sam feels his soul constricting. Unimaginable pain fills him in indescribable ways until he can no longer think of attempting to overthrow the devil. He relinquishes his attempts, falling sullen within himself, turning deaf ears to Lucifer’s efforts to comfort him.

Lucifer falls back on the bed, wrapping his wings around himself, an unmistakable rumble of satisfaction permeating everything about him.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucifer’s eye catches the glare from the sun, distracting him just enough for Sam to wheedle his way to the devil’s attention. “Stop!” Sam screams for what seems like the billionth time. He cannot watch the devil beat his brother again. For all the times he was a jerk, for all the times he was insufferable, for all the times he spit freak, Dean didn’t deserve this.

Sam knew he had Lucifer’s attention, and knew it would be brief at best, knew he had to use his time wisely. He didn’t know what to do with it until he caught sight of the green army man stuck in the ashtray.

Sam flooded his mind with memories, iconic images from his time with Dean. He had to show the devil… well he wasn’t sure. Love maybe? Something. So he just kept thinking. Maybe something in his arsenal would be enough.

So he remembers – that time he tried to convince Dean his musical tastes were outdated. It filled him with regret that he might not be able to sing along with his brother again, and made sure Lucifer felt every bit of the emotion filling him. And the time when they were so screwed in Milwaukee, driving away from the bank still wearing the SWAT uniforms. It’s okay to laugh at the memory now, but it was _months_ before Sam felt confident enough not to search Henricksen’s face out in a crowd. All the endless miles in the Impala come to mind: miles and miles and miles of highway, sharing the beautiful road trip with his brother, who he’s not sure he could live without even if the apocalypse went in Lucifer’s favor. All the looks they shared over the years, the looks that said all they could ever say and more without opening their mouths. They were just so connected… probably to do with all those miles in Dean’s baby.

He’s flipping in his memories so fast, knowing he won’t have much time left, knowing that Lucifer will draw his fist into Dean’s jaw in just moments. He has to think of something, something perfect, something to derail this horrifying nightmare. But he can’t, he’s not sure what he’s looking for. The flashes of smiling Dean, pensive Dean, thoughtful Dean, scared Dean, Dean’s Impala, the amulet he gave Dean that one Christmas, Dean, Dean, and more Dean just fill his head.

The memory of hugging Dean makes him pause, and almost let out a tear. This, he remembers, is when he came back to life – when Dean sold his soul for Sam, but he didn’t know it then. Knowing now what he didn’t know then makes what he communicates to Lucifer all the more powerful.

“I’d give you anything to end this here,” Sam begs, hoping Lucifer is still listening.

There’s a prolonged silence where Lucifer just stares at the green army man in the ashtray and considers Sam’s offer. “Anything?” Lucifer asks.

“Anything,” Sam responds without hesitation.

Another pause and Sam isn’t sure if his answer got through to Lucifer before his body suddenly feels more his own than it has felt since that day in Detroit. His wings, which were also ever present since that day, disappear. Lucifer has retreated for the moment, and Sam knows he doesn’t have much time, but all the same knows what he must do.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he reassures his brother. He’s panting with the exertion Lucifer put his body through, and also for the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body – though that, too, is likely a side effect of Lucifer’s control. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got him.” It feels like a promise. He must be strong, he knows. He cannot cry, cannot make Dean think he needs to be a hero, cannot make Dean feel Sam needs saving.

This is final.

So he pushes the tears back, and makes a reach instead for the anger that seems to have always been too close, too friendly over the years. He shoves his hand in his pocket, pulling out the rings – the keys to the cage. And when Lucifer doesn’t stop him, he knows he’s making the right choice. “Just you and me, Sammy,” Sam hears through loud speaker in his brain. “We’re M.F.E.O. literally,” he chuckles, as though it’s a cosmic joke. It doesn’t feel funny to Sam, but the hunter clamps down any retaliation and tosses the keys on the brown grass to use to summon the gates to the cage.

There is swirling wind leading down into the cage and Sam is frightened, but knows this is the only way.

He closes his eyes, extends his arms – his wings, though no longer corporal, extend as well – and lets himself fall forward.


	3. Chapter 3

Nick is back.

Well, more specifically, Lucifer is wearing Nick’s skin.

Sam shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. Michael had initially locked Lucifer in this cage a long, long time ago. Surely the angel had gotten bored of the cavernous structure somewhere along the line and started exploring his territory, as well as the extent of his powers.

Sam doesn’t remember much from the instant he found himself in the cage. He knows it was dark. The hunter had drawn into his angel, almost of fear what could be lurking in the corners. Better the devil you know, as the saying goes.

But his angel doesn’t stay long, choosing to detach from Sam instead, leaving Sam to battle the darkness alone.

Sam is howling in the dark, wishing for Dean, for Bobby, even Cas to help him and make him feel less alone. He has no way of knowing how much time has passed. It could be hours, years, days… he just doesn’t know. Lonely, dark, scared, cold. He can’t see anything through the perpetual darkness, not even his own hands in front of his face. His reality only consists of the utter inky blackness before him, and stony cold sharp ground beneath him.

It’s so lonely, so unchanging that he isn’t sure if he’s alive or dead. Could he have actually died during the fall? Is this what his hell is? A hell of his own making, he supposes.

The only way he knows he’s dreaming is that in his dreams, there is light. So when Lucifer returns, his sanity, as fleeting as it always was, is nearly spent away. He cannot accept that he isn’t dreaming at first sight of the angel’s light.

“This is really just a hallucination for you, Sammy. Wouldn’t want to burn those pretty eyes out,” Lucifer explains about the body of Nick he’s projecting. 

Sam doesn’t care. Lucifer is the only being for dimensions; would it really be so awful if his eyes were burned out?

Sam needs comfort after so long by himself. He seeks it out in the angel, crawling up to the heavenly sight on his knees. “Please,” Sam begs, tears draining down his cheeks, his hands before him in prayer. The light is so warm and inviting, he needs it.

“Come, Sam,” giving permission. Lucifer graciously draws the hunter into his arms. Sam drops his prayer poised hands, and instead grips Lucifer around his waist, pulling the angel close and crying harder into his stomach, afraid that the angel will disappear again and leave him in the dark like before. “I’m here, now, Sammy. It’ll be okay.”

Lucifer comforts Sam, reassuring Sam with touches and embraces, pulling Sam closer to kiss away the tears in his eyes. Sam lets him, though he feels guilty for it. Hell, he feels guilty for all his life choices. Even if a large majority were out of his control, he still feels the guilt that he should have known better, should have done better, been one step ahead.

“No, Sammy,” Lucifer challenges. “You could have never done better.” Lucifer tucks Sam in, close to his side.

“Yeah, but I should have,” Sam counters.

“But that doesn’t change that you couldn’t have,” the angel smiles. Nick’s face has always expressed a gentleness that Sam has come to associate with Lucifer as well. “You were made for me. I know how you think. I was there at every turn in your life. This,” he pauses, curling a hair behind Sam’s ear, “was always destined to be.”

The realization makes Sam feel stunningly inconsequential. Sam is quiet for a while, thinking through the major life choices – all of those people Lucifer had him murder. Suddenly those killings weren’t about revenge against Azazel. They were a manipulation, a way to force some comradery. Sam is aghast, and it must show on his face by the time Lucifer calls his attention back.

“Hey,” Lucifer says, physically using his hand to turn Sam’s cheek so their eyes meet. Sam’s eyes dart everywhere, trying to avoid contact with the monster before him. Lucifer narrows his eyes derisively and squeezes Sam’s jaw painfully, and shakes him once so Sam complies. “Just because we were destined does not mean you weren’t worth all this,” Lucifer enunciates, glancing around the room to encompass what all this means.

“Do you understand?” Lucifer asks.

Sam considers his answer for a moment, not sure how to answer at all. Not after the revelation, not after realizing Lucifer was behind every corner, leading Sam to him since he was six months old. Lucifer squeezes the bone tighter. “I asked you a question, Sammy boy.”

Sam draws a hand to his aching jaw, no longer comforted by the devil surrounding him. He tries to pull back, but Lucifer’s grip is unwavering. “Don’t make me ask again.”

Scared witless, Sam nods fervently.

“Good boy.”

Lucifer is appeased. He leans forward and gives Sam a soft kiss before letting the boy turn away from him again. “Go to sleep now, Sammy.” The light that radiates from Lucifer goes out. Sam wants nothing more than to escape the devils grip, but he cannot deny how scared of the darkness beyond. So he stays put, trying not to think about how long forever is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has the self harm and it's reasonably graphic. Spoiler is in the notes at the end of this chapter in case you want to see what happens before you read it.

He shouldn’t have picked at the wall. It sounds like a perverse nursery rhyme, full of bouncing notes and children’s mocking voices at him.

One, two, Lucifer’s coming for you  
Three, four, you’re just his whore

Sam had used his time in the cage as a punishment. Lucifer was all too willing to dole it all out, but Sam wasn’t fussed. He deserved every lashing, every burn, every single spilled drop of blood. He started this apocalypse with his desperate desire for power – all that demon blood. Though he had the best intentions, his best intentions paved the road to the pit, with Lucifer as his bunk buddy. He deserved punishment for almost ending the world.

He is a monster. A monster that should still be locked up in the cage.

“Do it, Sammy,” Lucifer caws from the table. Sam glances up through the mop of his hair. _I deserve this_ , he reminds himself.

His cell phone vibrates on the bedside table, looking at the demon knife in his hands. “Come on, Sam, don’t pussy out on me now,” Lucifer taunts, standing up and walking closer to Sam. “You can do it, you deserve to do it.”

Sam presses the blade to his finger, drawing out a drop of blood. He doesn’t even feel it. He supposes that’s a good thing.

Ignoring Lucifer, Sam stands and brushes past the angel. He walks up to the bathroom mirror as his cell phone chirps that he’s got a voicemail. He blinks; the light above the vanity is bright and uncomfortable – not nearly as beautiful as Lucifer’s light. Sam cringes at the memories of the angel in their cage, giving him treats of brightness when he was a good boy.

“Do it,” Lucifer says again, standing right behind Sam’s left wing. “You don’t deserve them anymore.”

Sam grips the hilt of the knife tight in his hand, gritting his teeth with determination. The devil is right. These wings were meant for an angel, and Sam has never been an angel.

The hunter watches them in the mirror, twitching lightly with anticipation. His muscles are anticipating the pain, but he needs to do this. His wings used to be beautifully glowing silver. They used to be graceful and soft. He remembers taking great care of them when he was at Stanford, carefully washing them if they ever got dirty. Treating them like they were special, like they weren’t something to be ashamed of.

But now they reflect back a dirty, dingy gray. Missing feathers with red, angry scars. They itch where there is dried blood caked on. They are painful, even when not corporal. He’s barely able to keep them visible, straining under the throbbing, piercing rawness.

“Do it!” Lucifer screams for his attention, Sam flinching under the harshness of his words. But they draw his attention away from the reverie.

He hears his phone begin to ring again, distantly wondering when his brother would give up.

Sam reaches his arm left arm over his back, grabbing on to the scapular to hold his wing still. His right follows, tipping the knife against the connection on his shoulder blade. “That’s it, Sammy, you can do this.” Lucifer seems to delight in this, sounding maniacal with giddiness, clapping his hands together and nearly jumping like an excited child at his birthday party.

Sam saws, feeling the skin burn under the knife.

Five, Six, this isn’t a trick  
Seven, Eight, only pain awaits

His fingers tremble, but he continues. Lucifer’s cackling grows louder as the angel seems to prance and dance about the room, delighted in Sam’s agony. Sam tries to block out the noise, ignoring the devil’s antics and his cell phone as it rings again and again and again.

It’s so loud. He feels dizzy and weak as the blood draws down his spine, pooling against his pants. He screams when the knife encounters the bone connecting the abomination to his back. But it’s hollow, like a bird. He keeps sawing; the scratchy sound and stuttering grind making him cringe and nearly expel the contents of his stomach all over the nasty floral hotel carpet. The knife seems to snap into the hollow center, alerting him to the measure of his progress. He drops the knife, no longer able to keep sawing at the bone, hoping he has made enough advancement to just break it from there. Holding both hands on his scapular, he yanks up and to the left. The bone gives a sickening, empty crack as it separates from his body.

Sam heaves with the effort, dropping the mass to the ground before his knees give out and he follows suit, thumping himself to the floor.

He’s breathing hard, his hands coated in red that he’ll have to scrub off later. Lucifer’s gone quiet for a moment and Sam wonders if the devil’s gone away and left him. He touches his face, wiping some of the tears away, but the blood on his fingers stings his eyes. He toys with the dirty feathers of the wing on the floor, rubbing the fringes between his thumb and forefinger, watching it matt up between them.

“Sammy boy, you’re only half done,” Lucifer reminds him. His cell rings again. The knife is behind him, he can feel his foot against it.

The stump that once connected his wing to his body burns.

Sam twists around, hissing at the fire radiating from his shoulder to grab at the knife. He holds it, looking at the blade tacked and gummy with blood. “Finish the job, Sam,” Lucifer growls between his teeth. It sounds roaring loud between his ears, which were already ringing from the calamity Lucifer let forth before.

His phone chirps with another voicemail. The hunter lifts his arms again, trying his best to ignore the spasms the stump is giving him. “That’s it,” Lucifer smiles, “good boy.”

Sam blinks a few times, clearing his eyes and centering himself before beginning to amputate his other wing. Sam can’t be sure, but he thinks this one goes quicker. It’s too soon before he’s ready to break the bone and be done with these repulsive monstrosities for good. But his arms are weak, all the strength gone, all his resolve hard to gather.

“No!” Lucifer calls. “No! You must finish! You must!”

His fingers slip in the blood a few times before gripping tight enough to their purchase. He mentally counts to three, using the time to gather the last of the adrenaline pumping through his system, watching as his vision narrows, knowing this will be his last moment, before yanking as hard as he can upwards. There’s a crack, and his arms shoot up with their prize.

Nine, ten, never fly again  
Eleven, twelve, save yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam, now out of the cage, is verbally abused by Lucifer as he takes a demon blade to his wings and amputates them.
> 
> (Ps, don't worry, I'm not leaving him like this, there's a part 3 and 4 on the way!)


End file.
